Trog lives underground...carving and gouging his aural fixations on the walls...the dark and cool surroundings allow for maximum ingestion and regurgitation of the musical foodstuffs which his devoted troglings crave and need in order to survive. His palette is wide…wide enough to include all of the hues and sounds which would entice and capture the most avid of sonic addicts to the merely curious outsider who just happened to peer into the cave at the right moment. Eventually, they all come…on their feet or on their knees…the doomed…the stoned…those clad in metal…those wielding weapons made of rock...those created out of a twisted will and even those devoid of form...